


Contact

by RichieBrook



Series: This Is Your Life [5]
Category: Arctic Monkeys, Last Shadow Puppets, Miles Kane - Fandom
Genre: Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, M/M, also they discuss consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2019-12-02
Packaged: 2021-02-26 16:06:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21650947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RichieBrook/pseuds/RichieBrook
Summary: Alex has trouble getting out of bed. Miles comforts him.
Relationships: Miles Kane/Alex Turner
Series: This Is Your Life [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1122774
Comments: 5
Kudos: 51





	Contact

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a silly short thing that I previously posted on Tumblr and didn't really intend to post on here, but I figured it belonged in my This Is Your Life series. Can be read as a standalone story. I wrote this in a little over an hour and there's not much going on in it, so please don't expect too much. :)

It’s past noon and Alex is still in bed. Miles knows this because he was the one to invite Alex back to his hotel room last night. He’s still not sure what his intentions were when he helped his best friend undress and brought him a large glass of water in a half-hearted attempt to make the inevitable hangover a bit less vicious. He’d definitely hoped for a languid kiss or two, for some drunken joking around and maybe even a shag if they fancied it. They fancy one most nights, so he can’t be blamed entirely for hoping. But Alex fell asleep immediately after downing his pint of water, his hand in a death grip around Miles’ bicep. And Miles, who is currently moving about Alex’s hotel room to pack his friend’s stuff in time for yet another bus trip, has the queasy feeling that he should have realised immediately. It’s far from the first time they slept in one bed together, but it is the first time during this tour that Alex succumbed to sleep immediately. It’s the first time that the fire in those clever eyes, which had definitely still been there before, when Alex had flitted around the stage, danced his head off and made a very public affair of his affection for Miles, has completely gone out.

Miles isn’t surprised, per se. Knowing Alex it was bound to happen eventually. He just wishes he’d known it would be last night. He wouldn’t have left him alone with one of those depressing books he always carries around with him during the day, and he wouldn’t have let him drink at night. Miles tried one of the books the other day, by lack of having anything better to do on the bus, and was convinced he’d go mad after just two pages. But Alex likes the nihilistic blabber. He says it reassures him when he feels like he hasn’t been enough. If there’s no such thing as having a goal, he told Miles, and if life’s devoid of all meaning, that means there’s also no such thing as having to be enough. He’s just being. He’s just floating around, doing his own thing. Miles had just scoffed at him and kissed him, full on the mouth. It may be reassuring to Alex to be useless, but it’s the single most depressing thing Miles has ever heard, and he’s ready to tear Alex’s copy of whatever Camus book he was reading yesterday to shreds, even though he knows he can’t blame the book for Alex’s eyes going all dull and expressionless by the end of last night.

Miles finishes packing up Alex’s stuff (even his books, although he definitely considers leaving them behind for a minute) and goes back into his own room, rolling Alex’s suitcase behind him and carrying his travel bag in the other hand. Two eyes meet his over the duvet as soon as Miles glances in the direction of the bed. Alex’s mop of hair sits dully on top of his head, and there’s a sheen of sweat on his forehead. Miles gives him a smile. “Good morning, sleepin’ beauty,” he says. “How are ye feelin’?”

Alex’s eyes travel from Miles’ face to the suitcase and the bag, and back again. “Fanks,” he murmurs, his voice rough with disuse.

“Got a headache?”

Alex shakes his head. “It weren’t that much,” he murmurs. “I had two pints, Miles. Joost the two.”

And Miles really doesn’t want to hear that, because if he’d had five pints, at least the sudden gloominess would have been provoked by _something_ , which means Miles would have been able to keep it from happening again in the future. No such luck, though. It also means that Alex didn’t need help getting himself to bed last night because he was drunk off his head, but because of another, much less favourable reason. It makes Miles nervous, that. “We have two hours before we leave,” he tells Alex. “Ye want me to call for some breakfast? They do pancakes and everythin’.”

Alex draws a breath. The shake of his head is barely visible, and Miles decides not to push it. Alex studies him over the duvet and Miles forces himself to stay right where he is, even though that gaze makes an unpleasant shiver go up his spine. “What do you need?” he asks. “Just tell me. I’m not about to laugh at ya, you know that by now, Al, babe.”

The pet name, which he tags on as an afterthought, seems to work, and Alex draws up his eyebrows for a second. Miles can’t tell whether he looks confused or surprised. He’s usually good at that where Alex is concerned, but it doesn’t help that those eyes are so _fucking_ empty. “Did anything ‘appen?” he asks against better judgement, and isn’t surprised when Alex shakes his head once more. Still, he has to be practical. Alex has no use of him if he isn’t.

“Are ye up to performin’ tonight or do you want me to make some calls?” he asks next, even though he knows what the answer will be. He just doesn’t expect the scoffing laugh in which said answer is delivered, and Miles is a practical man alright, and all this gloominess makes his jaw clench and his hands ball into fists. “None of that. Talk to me,” he says, and he isn’t even annoyed with how harshly those words come out.

Alex holds onto the stupid duvet as if for dear life. “Two hours, you said?” he murmurs, voice muffled behind the duvet. Miles nods. “Two hours. That’s a long time and we’re in no rush. Tell me what you need. I don’t need full sentences, just try.” He watches Alex move to Miles’ usual side of the bed, where he stretches out his legs. A foot and a shin peep out from under the duvet, that is now arranged haphazardly over the bed. “Can we ‘ave sex?” he asks, and Miles breathes out loudly through his nose. “No,” he says. More unpleasant shivers crawl up his spine.

“Oh, come on,” Alex insists. “You know you want to. You wanted to last night.”

Miles grits his teeth. He’s starting to feel like an idiot for just standing there, in the middle of the room, with the handle of Alex’s suitcase in one hand and the bag in the other. “Alex, for fuck’s sake,” he mutters. “I’m sorry to break it to ya, but I’m not ‘avin’ sex with ya in this state.”

And Alex _laughs_. It’s not a very happy laugh and Miles isn’t sure what’s funny, but it’s a laugh, and even a scornful laugh is better than no sound at all. What happens next however isn’t better. Alex pushes the duvet off of himself in one resolute motion, revealing pale skin and strong thighs and toned arms and a firm chest, and his fingers start gliding downwards over his stomach to his unerect cock. Miles watches him, wide-eyed. The feeling of queasiness in the pit of his stomach grows worse. “Don’t fuckin’ do that,” he says, watching those fingers dip into pubic hair. Alex’s cock isn’t taking any interest, and Miles dumps the bag onto the floor and lets go of the suitcase, a flare of white-hot anger taking the best of him. “That’s it,” he snaps. “Jesus Christ, Alex, that’s it.” Before he knows it, he’s moving forward and grasps Alex’s wrist, pulling it away from his body and pinning it to the mattress. “What the fuck has gotten into yeh, Al? Jesus. Don’t be an idiot. I don’t _want_ to ‘ave sex with ya, do you understand me?” And Alex laughs another one of those laughs, even though it sounds more like a breath this time, and Miles makes quick work of covering him again, arranging the duvet properly this time. Alex’s eyes go wide, that taunting smile still tugging on the corners of his chapped lips, and then Miles has to watch those eyes tear up. He swears inwardly and shakes his head. He didn’t sign up for this and worse, he has no clue how to deal with it, even after a decade long friendship.

“ _Miles_.”

“What is it, baby?” All of the sudden he doesn’t feel particularly angry anymore.

“Fookin’ _please_.”

And Miles feels like his heart breaks into a million little pieces as realisation hits him. He shrugs off his jacket, shimmies out of his tight jeans and lifts the duvet again, before crawling into bed right next to Alex. Alex doesn’t move and Miles feels like he’s touching a ragdoll as he arranges Alex to fit right against him. He’s surprised when Alex presses his lips against his T-shirt clad chest but he lets him, and then Alex is winding himself around Miles like a very sad, very tired octopus. He tangles their legs together, presses his crotch flush against Miles’s, wraps one arm around his back and uses the other to take a tight hold of one of Miles’ hands. Miles’ breath catches in his throat at the strange intimacy of it. “Comfortable?” he manages, and Alex just holds him tighter.

“You sure yer okay with it bein’ like this?” he wants to know, and Miles shakes his head, confused.

“What are you on about, baby? Of course I am. It’s not every day that I get to wake up properly with the most gorgeous man in the world wrapped around me like this.”

Alex tsks. “Flatterer,” he mutters against Miles’ chest. “You ‘ave to tell me if you want more from me though. I know I didn’t exactly meet yer expectations last night.”

Miles stares at him, speechless. There’s more anger too, which he isn’t sure he wants to push away this time. “That’s what you think of me?” he asks, surprised by how calm he sounds. “You think I’m intent on sharin’ a bed with you every night because I think there might be a blow-job in it for me?”

Alex laughs an insecure little laugh and Miles wants to yell at him. He squeezes Alex’s hand, hard. “Yer an idiot, Turner,” he mutters. “I love havin’ sex with ya alright and I wouldn’t be opposed to havin’ much, much more of it, but I don’t sleep next to you every single night because I expect to get off. I can’t believe I’m having to explain that to ya. I should be storming out on you right now, just sayin’.” He stares at Alex and Alex stares at his chest. He swallows, then asks, because _fucking hell,_ he has to: “Have we been doin’ stuff against your will then, Alex?”

The response comes immediately and allows Miles to breathe again: “Fuck no,” Alex whispers. He sounds a little calmer now and Miles nods. “It were just guilt,” Alex says then. “Just now, I mean. I know you were expecting more out of last night. So were I. But I could feel this - this _thing_ comin’ from a mile away, for hours up until the gig. And then during I thought I might turn it back around. I had fun.”

He’s silent for a while and Miles strokes his hair. “That’s good, babe. Fun’s important. We’ll make sure tonight will be even better. I’ll even let ya pick which cover we'll play at the end.”

A laugh, a genuine fucking laugh that makes Miles smile, bubbles up from Alex’s chest. “You know we’re not doing Bowie if I get to pick.”

“I’ll survive one night without Bowie, Al. I’m a big boy.”

And Alex laughs some more, tucking his head under Miles’ chin and tugging at his arm until Miles gets the hint and carefully rolls himself on top of him, effectively trapping Alex between his own body and the mattress. Alex lets out a breath and closes his eyes. He wraps his arms around Miles’ waist, keeping him there, and spreads his legs a little before winding them around Miles calves. It’s an even more intimate position than the one they were in just now and Miles is glad for the thin layer of his boxer briefs separating them. He can already feel his cock stir. Most nights when they’re in this position, they’re both stark naked and Miles is slowly fucking Alex, pinning his wrists into the mattress and kissing him either hard or gently, depending on the night. “Fuck,” he mutters, and Alex smiles a little. “Sorry.”

“No, no.” Miles arches an eyebrow and gives Alex a quick shake of his head. “None of that. This is nice. Just this.”

“Just this,” Alex agrees as he closes his eyes again, and Miles _gets_ it now. He makes sure to cover Alex’s arms with his own, to fit their torsos and their hips together until they slot together just right, and calls out for Siri to set an alarm in an hour. His phone lights up and Siri’s confirmation makes Alex chuckle quietly, and then the room goes quiet again and Miles’ eyes slip closed as well.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. :)


End file.
